From One to Another
by Siena
Summary: After her sister's death, Josephine takes a short trip to a troubled isle.


From One to Another  
  
A "The Story of an Hour" and "Just Lather, That's All" Crossover  
  
Note: For the life of me, I can't recall the authors of those two short stories. They were in an anthology. If anyone knows, tell me please? This was a short story English assignment, told in Josephine's ("The Story of an Hour") view. The teacher said I'd done very well with it, so I've decided to share it. ^_^  
  
Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, save Yellow Lady. The barber actually doesn't have a name in "Just Lather, That's All", so the name (Carlos) I assigned him isn't true. I don't think Josephine and Louise have the same last name, and assigned Miss Josephine a separate one (Sheik). Sorrento is imaginary...after all, the barber is Latin American, I think.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
I looked upon the casket teary-eyed as it was lowered into the ground--six feet deep is the traditional depth--and the pastor murmuring our last goodbyes. Yet the entire time I could not help but recall the shock on Louise's face. My dear sister Louise did not seem to be filled with happiness at the sight of Brently Mallard. It was...disappointment?  
  
Several months later...  
  
"Have you decided where you are going, Josephine?" Richards, the family friend, asked as I sipped my tea, thinking of a certain room upstairs.  
  
"I will be aboard for Sorrento Island in a week."  
  
He nodded. "You just watch yourself."  
  
"I promise to write everyday," I chuckled.  
  
All this time I had an uneasy curiousity about Louise. The haunted look upon her face forever plagued me. Once Richards had let me be, I went to pack my belongings. I decided to stay for a month. I wanted to leave this place, if only for a while.  
  
Flight attendants paid close attention to me. I suppose it was because I didn't appear a vibrant, healthy middle-aged woman, but a tired one. I suppose it's because I'm approaching senior status soon. I couldn't sleep at all during the trip. I had a nice window seat near the front and entertained myself by looking out at the clouds we passed.  
  
There were other tourists along with me. I took particular liking to a woman (I believe she was in her forties) clothed in bright yellow. We exchanged many a pleasant talk over evening tea in the confines of our hotel.  
  
It was during a walk alone when I discovered a newspaper half-torn near a shop close to the hotel. The featured articles were about the brutal murder of several people who were against the government. I believe they are referred to as revolutionaries. The information was disturbing, and I returned to my room, paper in hand. Late in the evening there was a knock at my door. The lady was the one at my door. "Hello," she smiled. "Where have you been today?"  
  
I pulled out the newspaper and showed it to her. "I was not aware that this country faced such problems."  
  
"You weren't supposed to," she murmured.  
  
"How did you know?" I asked.  
  
She turned her side to me. "I left Sorrento for a reason. You will see tomorrow."  
  
Around nine o' clock, after I had sent my most recent letter, I followed her into the world beyond the hotel. This beyond was discouraged from visiting by the hotel staff. As we passed through the area I noticed yellow signs. I pointed one to her, asking what it was about. Everywhere in the little town we were now in I was seeing it.  
  
"It means the captain is coming again," she said darkly. Her tone deeply bothered me. She led me into a one-storey house that was attached to a barbershop. I remained by the doorway, not wanting to be rude by walking around in a stranger's home. She hadn't formally invited me in. "Carlos," I heard her call. Then she spoke in a language I could not comprehend. This was all well, as it is quite rude to listen in on a conversation one has no part in.  
  
She reappeared with a man looking a few years younger than she. "My cousin," she announced. In a lower voice, she spoke of the letter. It was a post regarding the next shooting and/or hanging of revolutionaries in the surrounding towns and country.  
  
The barber--I believe he was the Carlos my friend had summoned--now talked. "The captain comes at three o' clock. He has warned me that I would be next."  
  
Oh, the horror of it all! I had just met someone and within a few hours he would die. Like Louise in a way? I thought. "Couldn't you hide?" I suggested. They debated this for a moment.  
  
"No, it wouldn't work. The soldiers will hunt even the forests."  
  
Half an hour passed without result, and a knock sounded at the door. We were frozen for a moment, and Carlos summed up his courage to go answer it. We weren't surprised to see an officer, but we had expected a group of soldiers.  
  
"Is Miss Josephine Sheik here?"  
  
"Yes." I pushed my way towards the front. "Is there a problem?"  
  
The officer pulled out an envelope from behind him which turned out to be the letter I wrote regarding the newspaper and my feelings on the issues it presented. "Please follow me," he stated simply, and I was led out. As soon as I was outside, I saw a group waiting for us. I had just stepped into a car when the entire mob of them flooded into the house.  
  
On my way back home, looking through the window, I wondered what had happened to my friend and her cousin. I suppose I would not be able to find out. 


End file.
